


The Reaper

by chagrintrovert



Category: Jeremy Renner - Fandom
Genre: Eventual Sexual Content, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mention of Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chagrintrovert/pseuds/chagrintrovert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jeremy Renner takes the spirit of a lost love on a journey through the best and worst memories of her time on Earth before delivering her to the afterlife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I always expected that when I died, I’d see flashes of a lifetime of memories, walk down the proverbial tunnel toward some offensively bright light, and be greeted by friends and family who’d passed before me. Like a surprise party, but instead of yelling “Surprise!” my loved ones would shout “You died!” and we’d have a good laugh before they formed a single-file line and gave me the grand paradisal tour. I did not expect to be sitting on the sidewalk corner outside some new-wave gastro-pub, wearing last night’s clubbing outfit. I did not expect one of my heels to be awkwardly stuck in the gutter while I watched my car - surrounded by emergency responders - exude black smoke while a firefighter used the Jaws of Life to pry open my door and extract my body from the driver’s seat. I did not expect to be waiting apathetically for… whatever I’ve been waiting for, for the last hour.

I hear the hum of an engine and nonchalantly peer over my shoulder to see a sleek black car pull up behind me. The door opens and the very last person I would have expected steps out. He looks exactly the same as he did when I last saw him. His brown hair is painstakingly arranged to look like he doesn’t care and he’s wearing the same black aviator sunglasses that had become so much a part of him that I used to joke about them being permanently attached to his face. The only difference is that now he’s wearing a sharp black monochromatic suit and shiny black shoes in place of the t-shirts, jeans, boots, and occasional leather jackets that, long ago, comprised his typical wardrobe. Even with the shock of seeing him again, I can admit this is a damn good look for him.

He walks toward me with that slightly cocky, but mostly sexy gait of his and looks down at me while he takes his glasses off and carefully slides them into his pocket. With a doleful sigh, he says, “Damn. I was hoping it wasn’t true.”

I stare up at him, squinting against the hazy morning light, and ask the most obvious question. “How are you here, Jeremy? You died.”

His eyes crinkle when he chuckles and he holds out his hands to help me up from the ground. “In case it wasn’t clear, you just died, too. When they announced your death, I made sure I’d be the one escorting you.”

Between struggling to free my heel and relishing in the feel of his large hands once again enveloping mine, I look at him curiously. “Who’s ‘they’?”

Suddenly, my heel slips out of the gutter and he moves closer to stabilize me. A spark of that old passion flashes in his stormy eyes as I clutch at his shoulders and find myself pressed rather tightly against him. He clears his throat and quickly composes himself before he tucks my hand into the crook of his arm and leads me to his car. It, along with the two of us, has gone completely unnoticed by the many firefighters, police officers, EMTs, and morbidly curious onlookers crowding the other side of the street. He talks a little louder now that the ambulance sirens are blaring. “'They’ are the Reapers, and I am one of them.”

I ask him how as he opens the passenger door for me, watches me get in, and closes the door soundlessly. He walks around to the driver’s side, pulling out his sunglasses and putting them back on along the way. He sighs as he gets in and closes the door. When he looks at me, his glasses are hiding his eyes, which, after having lived with him for so long, I know was his intention. He turns the key in the ignition and drops his hands to his lap, leaving the car to idle for a moment. “I lead a pretty unsavory life. When I died and they told me I wasn’t getting into Heaven, I wasn’t surprised. But then they said I wasn’t bad enough to spend eternity in Hell, either, so they gave me a choice: go to Purgatory for God only knows how long, or become a Reaper and work off my sins. I chose the latter.”

I reach over and take his hand and lace my fingers with his the way I used to when he was sad or nervous. He looks down and squeezes my hand as if he’s testing the legitimacy of its existence. Apparently reassured, he releases his grasp long enough to reverse the car and turn around before giving me a small smile and tangling our fingers together once more. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” As he drives, I realize that the windows are completely blacked out and I have no idea which direction he’s going. It somehow never occurred to me that one would travel to the afterlife in a sports car driven by their dead-significant-other-turned-reaper. “Jer, where are you taking me? Heaven, or…?”

He squeezes my hand again. “Well, we have to do the whole past, present, future thing, first. One guy does it one time in 18-whatever London and suddenly it’s procedure. Way to go, Dickens, you nosy shit.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Are you telling me that Charles Dickens was a reaper?”

Jeremy smirks derisively. “He still is, thankfully he stays in England, mostly. He says people are 'uncultured and insufferable’ everywhere else. He was a real dick during the last required meeting. Something about how he revolutionized reaping, so he should get to move on. But he’s still being punished for becoming a famous author even though nobody was supposed to know about him.”

I utter a bemused 'huh’ as I consider the implication that my all time favorite author is an entitled prick. I should have known he would be. After a moment, I realize that the car has stopped and look over to see Jeremy staring at me, rather perplexed. “What?”

He removes his glasses and carelessly tosses them onto the dash. “I was just wondering what the hell you’re wearing. What happened to the bows and pastel colors?”

I look down at my heels, black skinny jeans, and low-cut purple top. “A lot changed when you died, Jer,” I say sadly. “I changed.”

He gives me another once-over and sneers his nose. “I don’t like it.”

I shake my head and shrug. “Me neither.”

He inhales deeply and sighs. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. So, I guess we should stop talking about the past and go spend some time in it.” He exits the car and circles around to open my door.

Taking hold of his offered hand, I step out onto a distantly familiar round-about driveway and gaze at the dismally expansive gardens and the too spacious house that more closely resembles a Grecian temple than a home for two. “We’re visiting Mother,” I say bitterly. “Wonderful.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past can be rough, but nachos make everything a little better.

The massive white pillars on either side of the porch steps always reminded me of my mother. Like her, they were larger than life, admired by strangers from afar, widely accepted as beautiful and well crafted. Intricately carved with twisting ivy above and below bold beveled lines, they were painstakingly decorated to hide the crude substance underneath. Like her, the pillars put on a show. They looked like they had spent their entire existence struggling to hold up the second floor. They looked strong and important. They appeared to be the stability and structure necessary to keep the house standing tall and formidable. But the truth is, those pillars - beautiful as they were - were useless. The house stood fine on its own before Mother, stomping up the walkway in her shiny red heels and black dress covered in obnoxious red roses, made a beeline for her hired architect and emphatically demanded that the pillars be added onto the nearly completed house. No amount of money was too much, she said. I remember sitting in the back seat of the town car and seeing the driver's eyes blow wide with disbelief as my mother, never one to be quiet or kind, told the builders that if the house didn't have pillars by Monday, they would just have to knock it all down and start over. 

Watching it all again, I still can't understand her. Those men spent the hottest summer in my hometown's recorded history building the house just as she had designed it. But, apparently, their execution of her idea wasn't good enough. Then again, nothing was ever good enough for Jane Moore.

I'm so disgustedly engrossed in watching my mother berate the builders that I barely feel Jeremy's arm drape across my shoulders. 

"Nicolette! Come here and tell these men just how sad you'll be if Mommy doesn't get the pillars she wants."

I shake my head and rake my fingers through my hair as I watch a seven year old version of myself amble out of the car and shuffle toward my immaculately coiffed mother and the group of sweaty, shirtless men. I remember being beyond elated and full of relief when the man in the blue hat knelt down to tell me that his team could add the pillars. I remember breathing deeply for the first time all day and holding back grateful tears because the addition of those pillars meant that I wouldn't be locked in the closet again. To this day, even though it's gross, the smell of sweat and lumber makes me feel safe. 

"Why was she so awful?"

Jeremy again takes my hand, "Some people just don't know how to be good... You wanna move on?”

I nod and suddenly, the scene starts to spin. The house flashes by, the gardens and builders blend together as they shift and stretch, my mother's shiny shoes disappear into the whirlwind of time. Once the ground is stable and I've brushed my wind blown hair from my face, I see that we're standing in the bathroom across the hall from my too-big bedroom. I was never allowed in Mother's bathroom. She said I was too dirty. Gripping Jeremy's hand tightly enough to leave half-moon indentations in his skin, I watch my twelve year old self lying on the grey stone floor, crying into the bath mat. 

I don't know what to do. I'm afraid. Should I call for Mother? Will she help me? Does she care? I decide that I have to chance it, but I know that if she sees me crying she'll just walk away, leaving me confused and alone. So I pull myself together, climb into the shower, pull off my clothes, and leave them on the shower floor as I stand under the scalding spray. I step out, reach for my robe hanging on the wall hook and put it on, tying it loosely as I call for my mother. A few moments later, I hear her heels clicking on the cherry wood floor of the hallway. 

She bursts through the door and stares at me indignantly. "Nicolette, you are embarrassing me in front of my dinner guests. How many times do I have to tell you to be quiet up here when I'm entertaining?"

I choke back a dazed sob and silently will my eyes to stay dry. I tell her that I think I'm sick, that something is very wrong because people don't just start bleeding for no reason. I ask her if I'm dying. 

She continues to stare at me like I'm the most ignorant excuse of a human being she's ever met. "You are not dying. The bleeding means that you can have children, now, which is probably a good thing because when you ask such stupid questions, I fear that providing a man with children is the most you could ever hope to accomplish." With that, she hands me ten dollars from her dress pocket and tells me to walk to the store and buy what I need before turning in a swirl of floral silk and marching away.

Jeremy stands in the hall while I follow the child I used to be to the too-big bedroom. I watch as she gets dressed and moves past me to descend the grand winding staircase with tears streaming down her face. I remember being her - having no idea what to buy and being nervous all the way to the store. I also remember the store being five miles away. 

Jeremy steps up behind me and rests his hand on the bannister. I turn to see him looking as disgusted as I feel. 

"She made you walk? She had a car and driver at her disposal, and she made you walk?"

I sniffle and cross my arms tightly across my chest. "The car was only for her. I only got to ride in it if we were going somewhere together. She didn't even like it then."

"Your mom was a cunt."

"And you always got angry when I said I never wanted her to meet you." I step closer to him and look into his steely eyes. "I was never ashamed of you, Jer. I was ashamed of her." 

Jeremy looks back at me apologetically. "I'm sorry for being a dick about that. I just -"

"It's okay. You just wanted to know where I came from and I didn't want you to see how bad it was."

He takes my hand and places a kiss on my palm like he used to. "Well then, on to the the next tragic scene. 

The embellished bannister and gleaming hardwood floor fade away and suddenly we're sitting on a cast iron bench flanked with potted artificial ficus trees. We're enveloped by the aroma of greasy pizza, cheese-covered soft pretzels, and hot fudge sauce from the food court. There are people everywhere. Some of them are arranged in groups of young girls, giggling and chattering as they pass by. Some of them are teenaged boys eating junk food while ogling people they find attractive. Some of them are mothers desperately trying to coax rambunctious children out of arcades and candy stores. Some exhausted parents have given up completely and surrendered to the bliss of the massage chairs scattered throughout the mall. 

It takes a moment for me to spot myself waiting in line to buy nachos. I'm wearing a denim jacket and a pale yellow sundress. My hair is redder than I remember and perfectly plaited. I can't hide the smile that spreads across my face and I lean closer to nudge Jeremy with my shoulder. "I thought you said this was a tragic scene."

He pulls his eyes away from the scene and focuses on me instead. His gaze lingers on my lips for a few seconds before he meets my eyes. "It was. I didn't get your number that day."

We watch as I bend down to pick something up off the floor. There is a boy in front of me wearing slightly baggy jeans and a black t-shirt. His light brown hair is just long enough to be pulled back and he is wearing a small hoop earring. I tap his shoulder.

"I think you dropped this."

When he turns around, his lips part slightly and he stumbles over his words. "Um... uh.."

"Thank you?"

He offers a small, awkward smile as he takes the cigarette from me and tucks it behind his ear. "Yeah. Yeah, um, thank you." 

I giggle and say, "You're welcome."

He jerks his thumb toward the nachos stand. "So, nachos are pretty great, huh?"

I look past him to see a cook pouring goopy yellow-orange cheese sauce over chips. "I wouldn't know. I've never had them."

He stares at me, not in disbelief, but in genuine concern. "You've never had nachos?"

I shake my head. 

"You're missing out."

"I'm sure that's true in many ways."

"Well, I can only fix the nacho thing right now. I'm Jeremy, by the way.

"I'm... Cole."

He smiles. "Reinventing yourself. I like it."

Jeremy and I sit on our bench and watch as our former selves share a large order of nachos and talk about music we liked and movies we wanted to see. Before long, my mother's driver finds me and tells me it's time to leave. I stand up and thank Jeremy for a wonderful lunch. 

"It wasn't that great, Sunny Dress. Just mall nachos."

"I didn't mean the food. I meant you."

He smirks and drops his eyes to the table. By the time he looks back up, the driver has already pulled me into the crowd and directed me toward the door. 

Jeremy sighs and sits back on our bench. "The next couple of years were rough for me, Cole. After this day, it was almost impossible not to think about you."

I hook my arm around his and lean against him. "Me too. It hurt like hell to know you were out there somewhere and I probably wouldn't see you again."

“Luckily for us, the next stop on Memory Lane is pretty great. Probably my favorite.”

“What is it?”

He eagerly jumps up from the bench and pulls me up along with him. “You’ll see.”


	3. Chapter 3

The scene starts to spin again and Young Jeremy melts away. The bench and potted trees disappear. The pervasive food court aroma and squeaking of shoes on tile are replaced by fresh air and the hum of small town life. Sunlight gleams on the windows of the mom-and-pop shops and glitters on the fountain in the square. Tuckett College, the cornerstone of this town for nearly eighty years, stands tall and proud three blocks over. 

I look up at Jeremy and can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Penn Street?”

He nods with a satisfied smirk. “Penn Street.”

Still holding Jeremy’s hand, I look around the neighborhood and point out my past self just down the block. I’m easy to find, leaning against a tree near a small fruit stand and trying hard to keep the skirt of my lavender dress from blowing up in the breeze as I study a cheaply laminated town map I found in my college welcome packet. We follow younger me as I push away from the tree and move tentatively down the slightly populated sidewalk. I remember feeling out of place and excited about it. I was ready for happy experiences and to smile without being made to feel ashamed of it.

I had earned a full tuition scholarship with my grades and extracurricular activities, which were really just ways of avoiding going home rather than attempts to make myself look good on applications. My mother was livid, of course. She said I shouldn’t need a scholarship because we weren’t “that type of family.” I refrained from telling her that we weren’t really a family at all, and instead told her that I wanted to have earned something in my life. The only reason she let me keep my scholarship was that I agreed to her condition of turning down campus housing in favor of living in a nice apartment so, should she ever decide to visit - which was highly unlikely, she would have a decent place to sit and not be expected to climb crowded stairs just to find herself in my subpar living space. To my surprise, she told me that she’d started a trust fund for me when I was born and I would have access to $250,000 upon my enrollment. I would have thought it an endearing gesture if I didn’t fully believe it was just a way for my mother to ensure that my leaving her house was a permanent scenario.

Lost in bittersweet memories, I ambled along beside Jeremy until he prodded me with his elbow. “You’re gonna miss it.” 

I look up in time to see my past self barely dodge a black duffel bag flying out the front door of a fairly dilapidated apartment building. We watch her stare in shock at the offensive object, only lifting her eyes when a young man with shaggy, light brown hair wearing a wrinkled navy t-shirt and old jeans stomps down the stairs as an older man yelling slurred words throws a leather jacket at the back of his head from the top of the stoop. 

“You’re goin’ nowhere fast, kid. Fuckin’ loser. Get the hell outta here!”

“Love you too, pop.” The young man bends down to pick up his jacket and bag from the ground. When he stands back up, his gaze lands on a red-haired girl he thought he’d never see again. The frustrated, jaded expression on his face shifts to one of serendipitous wonder. “Well, Sunny Dress from the food court. What are you doing here?”

I smile and shift my weight to one foot. “Um, apartment hunting. I’m going to college at Tuckett. Jeremy, right?”

He nods. “Well, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong place. All the luxury apartments are on the other side of town.”

“But they’re so far from campus. And I want to be able to go to the little shops on this street. Is there another apartment building nearby?”

He slings his bag over his shoulder. “I might know of one. But you have to let me buy you a cup of coffee if I take you there.”

“Okay.”

He looks surprised. “Wait, seriously?”

I laugh. “Why not?”

His smile lights up his face. “Alright then.”

He takes me to a small-ish apartment complex three streets away, telling me about the town as we walk and pointing out the places he visits often. We stop in at Divinyl, the record store where he works, along the way so he can pick up his paycheck - which is not a check at all, but a small stack of cash because his boss doesn’t trust banks. The apartment building is four floors high and surrounded by nicely landscaped grounds. On the sign out front is an advertisement for an available unit. I look at Jeremy and raise my eyebrows in excited curiosity before I grab his hand and run up the steps. Inside, another sign hangs from the ceiling, indicating that the apartment manager lives on site and that her apartment and office are just down the hall. I pull Jeremy toward the manager’s office and ring a small silver bell on the counter outside a sliding glass window. Soon, a slender woman with olive skin, long dark curls, and a bright smile comes into the little space and sits in the bouncy chair behind the window. She slides the glass to the left and greets us warmly, introducing herself as Tessa.

After giving us a tour of the grounds, which include on-site parking and a communal swimming pool, Tessa tells us that there are four apartments on each floor and takes us to the available third floor unit. 

She unlocks the door and opens it with a flourish. “This unit has nine-hundred-fifty square feet, two bedrooms, one and a half baths, and a bay window in the living room - so you’ll get lots of natural light. Over here, you have a nice kitchen, it’s a bit on the smaller side as far as kitchens go, but the flooring and granite counter tops are brand new. To the right is the utility room, furnished with a washing machine and dryer so you won’t have to worry about taking your laundry down stairs all the time. If you’ll follow me, I can show you the master bedroom. It has a balcony!”

We follow her and I step to her right, “This apartment is beautiful. Why hasn’t anyone rented it yet?”

“Oh, the previous tenants lived here for almost seven years. They only moved because the man got a job offer in Boston. Since they moved out, we’ve revamped the whole place, but the market just isn’t what it used to be. The landlord has been jumping all over me for it still being open.”

“I’ll take it. I’ll pay the deposit and first month’s rent if I can move in tomorrow.”

Tessa’s eyes shine with relief and she claps her hands together. “Done. You will still have to fill out the application though.” She gives me a sarcastic smile. “Yay, paperwork!” 

Back downstairs, Jeremy blankly stares at the wall and absentmindedly twists one of the three silver rings on his right hand as I fill out the forms. He looks at me, confused, when I ask him what his last name is and it takes him a moment to respond.

“Renner, why?”

“Because I have to list the names of all potential tenants on the application and lease. Duh.”

“No. What? What are you talking about?”

“I just saw your dad kick you out of his place. You have one bag of belongings. While we were walking over here, you told me about your job, you introduced me to your boss - and by the way he looked at you, he was surprised by that - and you showed me the bar you like and the small movie theatre that you go to, neither of which are date-worthy. All of that leads me to believe that you are single and now have nowhere else to go. So, is that Renner with one ‘N’ or two?”

When I look up at him, his brows are furrowed and his lips are slightly parted. “Uh, two.”

Jeremy makes a point to buy me that cup of coffee when we stop at a little coffee lounge on the way back to my hotel. I excuse myself to the restroom while we're waiting for our drinks and when I return to our table, his bag and jacket are by his chair but he's nowhere in sight. I scan the lounge and find him in the corner with his fingers dancing over the keys of a small piano. 

"Maybe I'm wrong, won't you tell me if I'm coming on too strong? This heart of mine has been hurt before, this time I want be be sure. I've been waiting for a girl like you..."

I sit at our table, mesmerized by his vocal range and the talent I'm sure he's not shown to many people. He sings with a passion I've never seen in a person. There's pain weaved into every crescendo and hope in every note. He is something very special and it makes me sad to think that no one has ever told him so. 

When he's finished his song, the seven or so other people in the lounge and the baristas behind the bar erupt into applause and someone whistles. He swivels around on the piano bench and hides a smile behind a bashful façade. He crosses the atmospherically lit room and sits across from me as I thank the waiter who places our drinks on the table. 

“Jeremy, where did you learn to play like that?”

“A couple years ago, I took a second job cleaning the community center at night and I practice on the piano there when I’m done. I wanted to learn to make music like the stuff I’m surrounded by all day, so I checked out some books and made copies of sheet music at the library. I don’t want to do it for a living or anything... it’s really just something I do for me.”

“Well, you’re very talented.”

He diffidently smiles and averts his eyes as he drinks his coffee.

Real Jeremy, leaning against the moss green wall of the lounge in his sharp black suit, teasingly kicks the back of my shoe with the toe of his. “If you get any closer to me over there, you’re gonna end up in my lap.”

I look over my shoulder and flash him a sly smirk. “I can’t help it. You were so cute back then.”  
He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. “Excuse you, I’m still cute.”

“True.”

“So, I lied.” He hesitates for a moment. “The next bit of our story is my favorite.”

“How long are you going to keep me in the past, Jer?”

“As long as you’ll let me.”

I fail to suppress an endeared smile. “Alright. Show me your favorite part.”

The lounge evanesces and Jeremy snaps his fingers for dramatic effect. I close my eyes and sigh in playfully exaggerated exasperation. When I open them, we’re sitting on the two bar stools in front of the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room in our apartment. I can tell by the sparse decor that we’d only been living here for a few weeks in this memory. The warm evening sunlight from the bay window makes the room look bigger than it is and I remember thinking that was a good thing because I meant to fill the entire space with things we loved. I had selected a sage green microfiber sofa and two matching armchairs and had arranged them around a cherrywood coffee table with an etched glass surface in the center of the room. Against the wall across from the sofa, Jeremy had filled our small cherrywood entertainment cabinet with his music collection that he’d kept in the back room at work so that his father couldn’t pawn it for drinking money. Against the back wall of the living room sat a new addition to the decor that Jeremy hadn’t seen yet. Invisible on our stools, we both watch as I pace back and forth in front of the sofa, nervously chewing my thumbnail while I wait for Jeremy to come home from closing the record store. 

My head snaps up and my hair cascades around my face when I hear his key turn in the lock. He comes in, routinely tossing his keys into the bowl on the tall table by the door. Peeling his leather jacket off and laying it over the back of an armchair, he spots me still chewing my nail and cocks his head to the side.

“Hey there. Whatcha doin’?”

With my other hand, I point to the upright Queen Anne piano flush against the back wall.

His eyes dart between the piano and me. “Cole, it’s…it’s beautiful. Did you buy this for me?” He walks over to the piano with awed reverence on his face. 

I follow him and sit beside him on the bench when he pulls it out. “I was going to that little antique shop downtown looking for interesting lamps and I spotted it as soon as I walked in. It was made of cherrywood like our furniture and the curator said nobody had so much as glanced at it in years. I knew it belonged here. I already had it tuned for you.”

He plays a few scales and drags his teeth over his bottom lip as he looks up at me with shiny eyes. “Thank you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this.”

I smile. “Just pay half the rent and I’ll consider us even.”

He continues to stare at me appreciatively. “Deal.” Then he leans forward and presses his lips against mine for the first time.

Our younger selves fade away and Jeremy hops down from his stool to stand in front of me. He reaches for my hand and pulls my fingers away from my face where I’ve been dreamily touching my lips as I relived our first kiss.

I flick my eyes up to meet his. “I really miss us, Jer.”

“So do I.” He places a hand on each side of my face and licks his lips lightly before kissing me the way only he ever could. It’s gentle and desperate and all-consuming. He tastes like coffee and the dark Hershey chocolates he always kept in his jacket pocket. I can’t tell where I end and he begins, and I think this must be heaven because nothing could possibly be better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you've never heard it (SHAME!!), this is the song Jeremy is playing in the lounge. 
> 
> "Waiting for a Girl Like You" by Foreigner, which I do not own, obviously. 
> 
> www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wln6NX0V4AQ


	4. Chapter 4

Jeremy’s kiss has always been a balm that soothes even the slightest pain I’ve buried over the years. Everything is beautiful and nothing matters when his lips touch mine. There is no loneliness, no fear. There is no disappointment. There is no Mother.

Until there is.

Jeremy leans back on his heels and looks into my eyes, wearing a mask of melancholia as he steps out of my line of sight. The apartment is gone, replaced by an intimately expensive restaurant. I am sitting on the left side of a round table draped in ivory and gold table dressings topped with shining silver cutlery and sparkling crystal glassware. Across the room, the Mediterranean mahogany door swings open and my mother glides in, designer brands clinging to every inch of her body: overly large Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses to hide her judgment, black Versace sheath dress appropriate for the funeral for my self-esteem, Louboutin platform pumps with their soles blood red from crushing the wills of men underfoot, black Salvatore Ferragamo tote in which she carries her ego dangling from the crook of her right arm. She is the perfect picture of a woman who knows who she is and expects everyone around her to know as well. She asks the hostess where to find me and, as she gently peels her sunglasses from the bridge of her nose, the sun streaming through the door glints off of a rather large diamond on her left ring finger, casting a rainbow sheen onto the ceiling.

The hostess points me out and begins to lead the way, but my mother waves her off and moves toward me with the same powerful strut she’s always used to carry herself. I stand, pinching the side seams of my pastel peach pencil skirt to straighten it before opening my arms for the brusque, stiff hug that was always more of a show for the public than an expression of affection. 

“Oh, Nicolette, I’m so glad college hasn’t turned you into one of those people who wear jeans for everything.” She reaches up and twirls a strand of my hair around her finger. “Your hair could use a deep conditioning treatment and a decent cut, though. Have you put on a little weight?”

“Um, no, I’ve actually lost seven pounds because I walk to and from campus every day.”

She raises a critical eyebrow, “Hmm.”

I wait for her to sit before I do and decide the best course of action is to talk about her until she’s had a glass of wine or two. “So, I see Nigel proposed. You must be excited.”

She looks nonchalantly at her hand as though the $325,000 three carat Cartier diamond engagement ring is just barely good enough. “Yes, I suppose. I’m having the hardest time finding a planner. No one is quite up to par. Perhaps I should look in London again, since that’s where we’re getting married.”

“Nigel must be happy to be going home for a while, then.”

“I’m sure. Now if only I could get Christine to answer her phone. She’s going to be my maid of honor. I’ve asked Nigel’s sister, Grace, to be my bridesmaid.”

“Just the two of them?”

“Well, yes. They’re the only two worthwhile. Who else would I possibly ask?”

I stare down at the wine menu with a slight shake of my head and graze my teeth over my lower lip. “No one.”

She flags down the waiter and orders the foie gras and a bottle of Montrachet Grand Cru. The waiter turns his attention to me and I hand him my menu.

“The mushroom tarte, please. Thank you.”

“Speaking of Christine,” Mother reaches into her tote bag, and pulls out a manila envelope which she slides across the table. “She gave me the number for that private investigator - you know the one who helped her find out that John was visiting that Korean “massage” parlor every week - and I had him do a little digging on this Jeremy character you’ve cozied up to. Did you know he has a criminal record?”

“It was expunged when he turned eighteen.”

“He was a drug dealer, Nicolette.”

“Yes.”

“He stole a car.”

“It was his neighbor’s and he gave it back the same day. The woman didn’t press charges.”

“He robbed a grocery store.”

“He shoplifted food. And he never tried to hurt anyone.”

“Look in the file.”

“Mother, stop. I don’t need to read it. He was charged with petty theft and the possession with intent to sell marijuana. He was seventeen. He was sent to a juvenile detention facility and released eleven months later on his eighteenth birthday.”

“He’s a criminal and I won’t have you living with him.”

“He was trying to survive! And now he’s got a steady job, he helps with the bills, he gives free piano lessons to underprivileged children at the community center. Mother, he has a past, but he’s great… I love him.”

She leans back in her chair as the waiter brings the wine and pours us each a glass. “Oh please, Nicolette, you don’t even know what love is. And I don’t care about his sob story or how you think he’s turned over a new leaf. He’ll be gone soon enough. I sent Leon to escort him from your apartment.”

The color drains from my face. “You did what? No!” I barely hear her hissed command for me to sit down as I jump from my seat and dash through the restaurant, narrowly avoiding crashing into tables and members of the waitstaff along the way.

Outside, I hail one of the three pea-green taxis that circulate our small town and give the driver my address as I frantically slide into the back seat. After seeming to get stuck at every single traffic light en route, he pulls up to my apartment building. I toss a fifty dollar bill into the front seat and dart from the car. I shove through the front door, completely ignoring Tessa and leaving her to shout fretful inquiries and admonishments at my back as I sprint up the stairs. The third floor hall is littered with Jeremy’s belongings - clothes, CDs, sheet music, scattered Hershey’s kisses - and I have to rest my hand against the wall as I catch my breath and tiptoe down the hall, carefully trying not to step on anything. I’m just outside our apartment when Leon hustles Jeremy into the hall and slams him hard against the wall opposite the door.

Jeremy’s face is red and his jaw is set, but his intense glare softens when he sees me. “Cole? What the fuck is going on?”

I step over his duffel bag and pull the ex-marine’s fist from the collar of Jeremy’s shirt. “Jane Moore is going on. I’m so sorry, Jeremy.” I stroke the side of his face where a bruise is noticeably beginning to form and turn to my mother’s driver, who is surprisingly sporting a few bruises of his own. ”Leon, please leave him alone. For me.”

Leon looks at me with a protective warning in his eyes. “She will be furious.”

I shrug. “I don’t care. She can’t ruin my life anymore, I won’t let her. He stays.”

Leon lowers his eyes in contemplation and nods curtly then kneels down to make eye contact with Jeremy who has sunken to the floor with a grimace and is rubbing his neck gingerly. “You ever hurt this girl, it’ll be the last thing you do before I skin you alive. Got it?”

Jeremy, seeming to be disturbed and chagrined in equal measure, shakes his head. “You won’t have to.” He watches me lean against the wall and slide down beside him, kissing the top of my head when I rest it on his shoulder. “She’s everything to me. I love her.”

The hall returns to its normal tidiness as the clutter disappears piece by piece and the young lovers we used to be evaporate before our eyes.

I turn and wrap my arms around Jeremy’s waist, burying my face in his black suit jacket. My voice is muffled when I speak. “She tried to ruin everything. He could have killed you.”

Jeremy moves my arms to his shoulders and crosses his arms around my hips, lifting me off the floor. “Please, I could have taken him.” He tries not to notice my skeptical, deadpanned expression but he does and his laugh, rumbling through his chest, echoes in mine. “Okay, he whooped my ass a little bit.”

“A little.” I roll my eyes as he walks into our apartment and sinks onto the sofa, pulling me to straddle his lap.

He smirks as he slides his hands down my back and over my ass. “You remember the last time we were sitting on this couch like this?”

“Yeah. I got whiplash and had to go to the emergency room. The doctor asked if I’d been on a roller coaster.”

“And then?” He gives me an amused, impish smile.

I cover my eyes with my hands but he pulls them away, holding them against his chest. “And then you looked him dead in the eye and said, ‘She sure has.’” I giggle and feel the blush spread across my face at the memory.

Jeremy sobers and his heart beats wildly under my palm.

I smile faintly. “You have a heartbeat…”

“Only when you’re around.”

My lips part slightly as tears well in my eyes. With no hesitation, Jeremy pulls me to him and captures my lips with his, cradling the back of my head with his hand. He tastes and teases his tongue into my mouth as I claw the hem of his shirt from where it’s tucked into his trousers and impatiently pinch the buttons through their stubborn holes. Edging my hands under his shirt, I revel in the warmth radiating from his skin, the sensation of his fine chest hair tickling the palms of my hands and sending waves of eager goose flesh skittering up my arms and a shiver down my spine. I push his shirt and jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, not bothering to stifle my laughter when his sleeve gets caught on his watch band and he growls at it.

“Laugh while you can, woman. Arms up.” With little effort, he pulls my top over my head and flings it haphazardly over his shoulder. “On your feet.”

Maneuvering backward off of his lap, I slowly touch one heeled boot to the floor and offer him a coquettish grin as I walk my fingers down my abdomen and reach for the button on my pants. He flicks his tongue over his bottom lip and leans back against the sofa cushion, his jaw slack as he rubs and squeezes the growing bulge in the front of his trousers.

Standing up completely, I take the hand he offers for balance and press the toe of one boot to the edge of the sofa. He unzips it swiftly and I switch feet so he can remove my other shoe. Looking at me expectantly, he holds up one finger and motions for me to turn.

I unzip my pants and, hooking a thumb into each side of my waistband. I sway my hips in a figure eight motion and spin in a slow circle as I ease them down inch by tantalizing inch. Once they’re past my hips they fall to the floor and I step between Jeremy’s splayed legs to kick them off. He bolts forward, abruptly grabbing my ass and burying his face between my thighs, nuzzling me through my panties. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, the way someone would savor the aroma of their favorite morning coffee, and he looks up at me as he slowly drags his tongue up the lavender lace.

He raises one eyebrow. “Found the pastel.” 

Reaching around my back, he deftly unclasps my bra and I slide the straps down my shoulders while he tugs my panties off and scrunches them into his pocket. He leans back on the sofa and I sink to my knees. I place a hand on each of his thighs, slowly sliding them up to tuck my fingertips into his waistband and yank him closer. Leaning forward, I watch his eyes glaze as ghost my open mouth over the fly of his trousers. He’s hard under the zipper and I carefully drag the pull tab down with my teeth. He lifts his hips off the sofa and his erection springs free as I tug the black material down his legs. I meet his eyes with a smile and lick the palm of my hand before I wrap my fingers around his cock. Giving him a few gentle pumps, I gather saliva on my tongue and lean forward to lick up along the vein bulging on the underside of his shaft, swirling my tongue around him when I reach the tip. With a few more laps, I close my lips over him, sucking just the tip as I flutter my tongue along the ridge of his crown. Jeremy pushes back the hair that has fallen over my face and tangles his fingers into my tresses as he rests his hand on the back of my head. Drawing him further into my mouth, I continue to stroke him, pumping my fist in time with my suction. He inhales sharply, air hissing through his clenched teeth, when I begin to massage his sac and the sensitive area behind it. He tightens his hand in my hair and soon presses the other into the sofa cushion to brace himself as he starts to thrust up into my mouth. My eyes start to water when the head of his cock hits the back of my throat, the cacophony of his ragged breathing and my wet slurping filling the room.

He suddenly pulls my mouth from his cock and releases his hold on my hair. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me up onto his lap and twists to the left so that I’m reclined on the sofa and he’s hovering over me with that predatory gleam in his eyes. He firmly grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger and brings his lips to mine, gently probing and massaging my tongue with his. The contrasting insistence and tenderness tell me he doesn’t want to be rough but he expects to be in control and I fervently nod my understanding. Jeremy moves down my body leaving a trail of hot kisses down my neck and chest, taking time to knead my breasts and suckle my nipples, teasing one and then the other into taut points before continuing to plant wet kisses along my waist and belly on his journey to my swollen cunt. He nuzzles the inside of my hip and looks up at me mischievously as he runs his tongue over the edge of his teeth. Leaning forward he delves into me, alternating between languidly sucking on my lips and mercilessly flicking my clit with his sinful tongue. He lifts one of my legs and drapes it over his shoulder, nipping and teasing my clit as he dips one then two fingers between my folds and crooks them in a come hither motion, hitting that perfect spot and giggling like a puckish child when I clutch the back of his head and grind against his mouth with a whorish moan that almost sounds like his name. With every pump and curl of his fingers, he pushes me toward the edge of bliss, finally tipping me over into what can only be described as rapture when he pinches my clit between his lips, sucking as he leaves his fingerprints on my g-spot.

He moves to crawl up my body, but I press my hand against his chest and push him back, licking and nibbling the ticklish spot below his ear and straddling his lap as I pump his cock. My hair cascades around our faces as he lifts my hips and slowly slides into me, both of us relishing in the nostalgic euphoria. After a moment I start to roll my hips, grinding against him and savoring the familiar ecstasy of his cock inside me. Jeremy’s grip tightens on my ass and he captures a nipple between his lips as he lifts my hips and begins to thrust up into me, controlling the pressure and pace as he fills me again and again. Pump after pump of his hips, I ride him, grinding my clit against his pelvic bone and moaning around wet, desperate kisses and concentrated grunts of pleasure. He wraps his arms around me and maneuvers me onto my back, bracing himself above me as he increases his tempo, pummeling into me. I feel the tension unfurling inside me, building as he chases his own release and seizes my mouth once again. His hair is damp and his slick skin is hot against mine. Everything around us disappears into irrelevance with his final erratic thrusts that send me over the edge, shattering me underneath him. I claw at his back, bury my face in the crook of his neck, and moan his name with ragged breath as he pushes his cock impossibly deep and empties himself inside me with a desperate groan. He collapses on top of me and rests his head on my shoulder, his cock slowly slipping from my folds as it softens.

I push his hair off away from his brows and pull his face toward mine. Touching his forehead to mine, he looks into my eyes and nuzzles my nose before giving me a lazy, sated kiss.

“I love you.” Another kiss. “So much.”

I smile and sigh. “I love you, too. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a little trouble working through writer's block, so I created a rendering of what the apartment looks like in my head and scoured the internet for some face claims for Cole and Jane.
> 
> Apartment -> http://chagrintrovert.tumblr.com/post/124473617656/since-i-had-a-major-migraine-today-and-couldnt
> 
> Face Claims -> http://chagrintrovert.tumblr.com/post/124696826921/face-claims-for-nicolette-cole-moore-and-her


	5. Chapter 5

Across the room, Jeremy absentmindedly buttons his pants while he stares down at the floor, clearly lost in thought. He slides his hand into his pocket and a slightly amused smile creeps across his face as he pulls my panties from the silky viscose lining. Holding them out to me, he says, “I think these belong to you.”

“Keep them.” I drop a playful wink and turn for him to clasp my bra as I wrestle the tangles from my hair with my fingers. “Have you seen my shirt?”

He kisses my shoulder and points to the floor under the sofa, continuing to speak as I pluck my top from the hardwood and slip it over my head. “Cole?”

“Hmm?”

He furrows his brow and looks at me gloomily. “You’re not going to like the next stop on this train ride.”

Stepping back up to him, I button his shirt and twist his tie into a snug half Windsor knot. I know the answer to my question before I ask it. “What is it?”

He looks at me and his eyes are filled with a sadness I’ve never seen in him before. They no longer remind me of steel or stormy seas, but of the sky, laden with clouds before an autumn drizzle. All of the stories he told me about fighting with his dad, the abuse, being made to feel worthless; his confession of his criminal past and the bad choices that led to him being caught – none of those things had ever made him look so sad. The night of our only real argument, the one that made him believe I could ever actually leave him, he had been distraught. He had fallen to his knees and begged me to stay with him. Tears had streamed down his face as he’d flung his arms around my waist and sobbed exaggerated apologies into my dress, claiming that I was the only person who had ever made him feel like he mattered and that he would do whatever it took to earn my forgiveness.

He had been concerned because I hadn’t come home on time. He had immediately jumped to the conclusion that I’d met someone else. When he confronted me, he’d outright accused me of cheating. I’d been offended, because of course I hadn’t cheated and I was angry that he believed that I would. So I fought back. I threw my my bag and keys to the floor and stomped toward him, ready for once in my life to go to bat and defend myself. We screamed at each other for well over an hour.

_“How could you do this to me?”_

_“I didn’t do anything! Why are you hounding me?”_

_“Who is he? Some senior business management major? A better option that your mother would approve of?”_

_“What does she have to do with anything? I’m trying to stay as far away from her as possible. I chose you didn’t I?”_

_“So now I’m just a way for you to rebel against her? The pathetic guy from the wrong side of the tracks? The charity case? A passing phase?”_

_“What are you talking about? You know what? Never mind. If you’re just going to accuse me of shit I’d never do or say, then I’m just going to stay with a friend on campus for the night.”_

_“Oh, Mr. Business Management? Great, have fun fucking my replacement.”_

_“Fuck you, Jeremy.”_

I’d scooped my keys from the floor and marched toward the door, fully intending to stay with a girlfriend, but the anguished whisper of his voice stopped me as my hand touched the doorknob.

_“…Cole, no, what are you doing? Wait. Please don’t go.”_

In that moment, when he’d collapsed to his knees in fervent supplication, I’d realized that he hadn’t been trying to control me, like my mother always had. He hadn’t intended to come off as possessive or jealous. He was afraid, deathly afraid, that I would abandon him like everyone else had, that I would “come to my senses” and realize that he wasn’t good enough for me or that I was out of his league. He truly believed I would eventually leave him.

Even then, his eyes glistening with desperation and his arms clasped around me in a last-ditch attempt at repentance, he hadn’t looked as dejected and heartbroken as he does right now. Now he looks tired and empty. As if the pain he feels is too much to bear, so he just shut everything off in the hopes of preserving his sanity. “The next stop is where I get off. The only silver lining is that you never have to see it happen.”

I reach up to stroke the side of his face and he leans into my hand as if I’m applying a soothing balm with no more than a simple touch. “I’m glad I didn’t have to see it, but I always thought if I’d been there, you’d still be alive. And I’m so sorry you’re going to have to see what it did to me. Losing you broke me, Jer.”

Closing his fingers around mine, he brings my hand to his lips and places a lingering kiss to my palm. The apartment fades away and I wince at the harsh fluorescent lighting of my Composition III classroom. I watch as a more recent version of myself sits in the third row, doodling in the margins of her notebook as Dr. Carroll prattled on with another of his classic off-topic rants. As freshmen, it had been a game for many students to change the subject in the middle of lectures and gleefully watch the minutes tick by on the face of the ornate clock in the corner as he ranted and raved until dismissal. The little sprite of a man was full of knowledge and detailed opinions and was somehow always shocked that he could waste an entire session saying “nothing of particular import.”

However, as a senior, I had lost interest in his liberal rants and wanted to focus on the lessons he was supposed to be teaching. When I realized that was a fruitless hope, I had resorted to writing my papers on my own and doodling in class out of boredom. Watching my former self now, I see what my mother and few friends from school have been saying for the last year. My face was fuller then. My cheeks were tinged with a rosy glow and, even bored to the point of catatonia, my eyes glittered in the bright light of the off-white room. Now, my face is gaunt and my skin is duller, grey. The shine has washed out of my hair and I’ve lost too much weight. I look terrible in comparison to the lively girl I used to be, not just because I’m technically dead, but because what happens next completely broke my spirit.

My phone rang in my purse. I never turned it on silent because, apart from Jeremy, nobody called me and he knew when to call to catch me between classes. Startled out of my doodling, I reached into my bag and fumbled for the impatiently vibrating phone and rushed to the door, stage whispering my apologies to Dr. Carroll along the way.

In the hall, I pressed the green answer button without bothering to look at the caller’s name. My hello was cut off by a woman speaking in the same gentle tone of voice with which one would approach a timid stray animal.

“Nicolette Moore?”

“Yes.”

“I’m calling because you’re listed as the emergency contact for Jeremy Renner. He’s been shot, ma'am. We’ll need you to come down to the hospital right away.”

My fingers went numb and a heavy air settled around me. My mouth barely worked. “Is… Is he okay?”

Tense silence pervaded the distance between us and my heart stopped as the nameless woman hesitated. “The surgeon did all he could, Miss Moore, but… he didn’t make it. I’m so sorry.”

I don’t remember the phone falling from my hands or my back crashing against the grey wall in the hallway as I collapsed. I don’t remember screaming and I don’t remember Dr. Carroll flinging the door open and kneeling beside me, horrified confusion etched into his mustachioed face. I don’t remember fainting.

Clutching Jeremy’s hand, I watch as Dr. Carroll sends a girl named Ella to get my notebook and bag. Waving the notebook in front of my face, he tries to revive me and orders Ella to call the most recently dialed number in my phone.

They don’t know Jeremy can’t answer.

I remember the next few days being a frenzied blur of mechanically tying up loose ends and evading emotions like a pirouetting ballerina. I didn’t feel sad when I woke up. I didn’t feel scared when I claimed his body. I didn’t feel nervous or sorrowful when I went back to his father’s apartment to tell him what had happened.

There had been a robbery at Divinyl. A man had come in wearing a ski mask, waved his handgun around and demanded that Jeremy open the cash register. Enraged, he had shot Jeremy three times in the chest and run off when all the money in the register only totaled $97.68. The manager of a neighboring business had called the police to report gunshots, but Jeremy had lain on the floor behind the counter for twenty-nine minutes before they and EMTs arrived. The emergency room surgeon tried to save him for nearly an hour and half, but he’d lost too much blood and one of the bullets had destroyed his right coronary artery, effectively killing his heart.

He died at 12:49 PM on a cool and sunny Wednesday in March.

I was completely numb for weeks. I didn’t cry. I didn’t sleep because I wasn’t tired. I barely ate because I wasn’t hungry. I really didn’t feel anything until the police called to tell me I could come pick up Jeremy’s personal effects because they were no longer pertinent to their investigation.

Jeremy and I follow the empty shell of a girl who looks like me as she ascends the limestone steps outside the police station. She shuffles up to the bullet-resistant window and states that her name is Nicolette Moore and that she’s there to collect Jeremy’s things. She signs an inventory page and statement of receipt without reading them and the officer behind the glass sends a rookie into the lobby to give her a white paper bag. Empty Cole mutters a brief thank you and walks back outside, choosing to sit on the second step despite the mockingly bright sunlight making her squint. She sets the bag between her feet and carefully unfurls the rolled down top. Inside, she finds Jeremy’s phone, wallet, shoes, and watch, seven Hershey’s Kisses, and a maroon velvet box.

I look up at Jeremy. He slowly sinks onto the step beside her, watching her intently as she opens the box and gasps. With trembling fingers, she plucks the modest solitaire diamond ring from its soft velvet cushion. A woeful sigh escapes her lips and she turns it this way and that, wistfully enchanted by the way it sparkles optimistically in the sun. After a few long moments, she slips it onto her left ring finger with a distant, wavering smile.

I sit down beside Jeremy, curling my arm through his and pulling him close as I lean my head on his shoulder. He turns his head to press a kiss to my hair and, when he draws in a shaky breath and sighs deeply, I feel his tears drop onto my shoulder. The three of us, each dead in our own way, sit quietly on the sun-warmed steps and stare at the intricate stained glass windows of the little brick church across the street. Empty Cole breaks the silence with her strained, raspy whisper.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jeremy doesn’t say much to me during the next few scenes. He fights the pointless urge to comfort me while we watch me sob into his pillow on the bed we shared. He tries to hide the tears as we stand up on the dais beside his coffin -- both shocked that so many people had come to say goodbye and proud of one of his piano students who sat bravely and played publicly for the first time at the funeral. He growls from deep in his chest when my mother flits around our apartment chattering brightly about how I could finally use the space for entertaining visitors “of better quality” despite my despondence. He glares at me and I look at the floor when he sees that I almost swallowed an entire bottle of sleep pills; he pulls me into his arms, crushing me to his chest and pressing a kiss to my temple when he sees that I decided not to.

 

The next scene confuses him. We watch as I wake up one morning with determination on my face. I wish I could tell him I was determined to be happy again, to move on with my life, or to even go to therapy. But I wasn’t. Nothing seemed important anymore. College was a waste of time. Trying to work on my relationship with my mother was completely out of the question. All of my friends from school had abandoned the mopey version of me that couldn’t be bothered to study with them. Nothing was fun here anymore. Nothing was good. I just wanted to feel something other than hopeless and sad. Jeremy squeezes my hand too tightly as we follow an unrecognizable version of me into the registrar’s office. He notices her pallid face, made all the more wretched with dull eyes and dark circles, when we watch her formally withdraw from school. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t offer a reason. She doesn’t show any intention of coming back. She says she’s done, writes a check to cover her remaining tuition, and leaves.

 

Jeremy looks at me, a demand for answers on the tip of his tongue, “What the fuck did you do that for?”

 

I meet his eyes sheepishly. “It wasn’t important anymore.”

 

“Your future wasn’t important?”

 

Instead of answering, I shake my head and lift my shoulders in a half-hearted shrug.

 

“Goddamn it, Cole. You’re better than that. You were almost done. One semester from the finish line, and you threw it away!”

 

“I know.”

 

He stands in front of me, begging me to make him understand. “Why?”

 

I stare into his stormy eyes and am surprised to see only genuine confusion in their depths. “You still don’t get it, do you? After this whole trip down memory lane, you still don’t get it.” I shake my head again. “You were everything to me, Jer. You loved me unconditionally. You were good to me. You were good  _ for  _ me. You made each of my days perfect just by being in there. And then you were gone. You were the support that held me up. When you fell away, I crumbled to the ground with you. There was no reason for me to stand anymore.”

 

He grabs my face between his hands and squeezes a little. “Yes... there was.”

 

The scenes around us continue to change. Me shoving the pastel pieces of my wardrobe into the back of the closet. Me draping my body with slinky excuses for clothes and painting dark lines around my eyes. Me filling the refrigerator with Jack Daniels and Everclear instead of useful things like milk, eggs, and cheese.

 

I scoff at his conviction, “What reason would I possibly have?”

 

“You. Your life. You could have had so much more than that.” He points to the sloppy, teetering version of me making her way to her car outside a club. Her mascara is smeared down one cheek and her engagement ring tries its best to sparkle under the neon light of the club’s obnoxious sign. “You had so much to offer, Cole. And you wasted it.”

 

I sigh, suddenly feeling very tired. “Jeremy, you wouldn’t have handled it any better if I had died.”

 

He takes a step back and looks at me remorsefully. “You did die, Cole. And that’s different, anyway. You were it for me -- the best thing I could ever have. But you could have moved on.” He sits down hard on the curb outside the gastro-pub that has materialized before us. “It’s all my fault you’re here now.”

 

I sit next to him and take his hand in mine. “You didn’t have any control over that, Jer. Your death is on that guy in the ski mask. He didn’t have to shoot you, but he did. He should have known robbing a struggling business wouldn’t get him much.”

 

“He wasn’t--” Jeremy inhales deeply and runs his hands through his hair. “He wasn’t robbing Divinyl... I owed him money.” His eyes are far away when he looks at me. “He was my old supplier. He’d just come back to town and needed a guy to move his product. I was the first guy he called and I needed money. He paid me in advance but I couldn’t get enough people to buy at the price he wanted, so I told him I’d just pay him back. He gave me a week to get the money but I wasn’t about to ask you for it. I didn’t get it in time. So he, uh, made me pay another way.”

 

I exhale sharply. At some point during his confession, I’d held my breath. “Jeremy, I don’t know what to say.”

 

He leans forward and rests his face in his hands. Mumbling through his fingers, he says, “You’re disappointed in me, you’re angry, you’re hurt. There’s a long list of things you could say but it won’t matter now.”

 

“What on earth did you need money for that I couldn’t help you with?” I ask. He lifts his head and stares at my left hand for a long moment before finally meeting my eyes. I sigh,  “Oh, Jeremy,” realization washes over me and my breath catches in my throat, “the engagement ring.”

 

He slides his eyes away from mine and stares down the street as swerving headlights bounce back and forth across the pavement in the grey early morning light. We watch in horror as my car whips around the corner, leaving an arc of ominous black marks on the street in its wake. 

 

I don’t remember being unable to regain control over the car after turning the corner. I don’t remember not slowing down, but I see it all happening right in front of me. One of Jeremy’s favorite songs blares from the speakers, pouring out of the open windows. It’s so loud that I cover my ears, but it’s still not loud enough. Over the music, I hear the desperate screech of the brakes, the sickening metallic crunch of my car wrapping itself around the thick tree across the street in a macabre embrace. I swear I hear myself scream. The song playing from the car gradually fizzles out, lyrics repeating in a broken stutter as the melody skips to a choked end. The street is mostly quiet again except for the sounds of leaves rustling above the car and the occasional twitter as birds wake to welcome the sunrise. 

 

Jeremy sounds as though he’s been punched in the stomach when he finally speaks. “I am so sorry, Cole. I ruined your life. Even after I died, I  _ kept  _ ruining your life. Then for you to die like  _ that _ … All because I was a fucking idiot.”

 

I rip my eyes away from my smoking car to look at him, almost offended. “You did not ruin my life. Never think that. You were the greatest thing that ever happened to me. It’s not your fault I let myself get lost. That’s on me. Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

 

“It still wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone back to selling drugs. I was fucking stupid--”

 

“You were not stupid. A little misguided, maybe. And impatient,” I tilt his chin up with two fingers, “but you were not stupid. You just loved me and wanted desperately to prove it.  _ I was stupid _ ; I shouldn’t have been driving that night.”

 

A hard glint of determination sparkles in his eyes and he says, “You’re right. You are absolutely right,” and he unfolds himself from the curb. Turning around, he offers me his hand and pulls me up, tucking my arm through his as he guides me down the street away from the acrid fumes drifting from my car.

 

When we turn the corner, his sleek black car is in the gastro-pub’s side parking lot. Jeremy opens my door, ushers me into my seat, and circles the to the driver’s side. Once he’s seated beside me, he pulls out of the lot and drives toward a destination still unknown to me. 

 

“Jeremy, where are we going?”

 

He doesn’t look at me. “To the Elders.”

 

“The Elders?” I quirk my eyebrows incredulously, “When did we step into a fantasy novel?”

 

“You’re a dead woman talking to your dead  fiancé  in a luxury car after revisiting parts of your past” he said dryly, “and the Elders are what you decide to be skeptical about?”

 

I smile to myself and then take a moment to really look at him. With his eyes focused on a road only he can see through the heavily tinted windows, he looks older than I remember. Our time together has been blinding me with nostalgia. He isn’t the boy from the food court anymore. The young man down on his luck has long since moved out and taken up residence in the past. When I see the small lines that have etched themselves into the corners of his eyes, my old dream of growing old with him creeps into my mind and I have to fight the encroaching gloom that threatens to overwhelm me. He doesn’t notice my inner turmoil, though. He just continues to drive, determined to achieve some goal that I realize he’s not yet disclosed to me.

 

“Jer, why are we going to see the elders anyway?”

  
He shifts his eyes toward me for a split second before answering resolutely. “I’m gonna get your life back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation with brokenheartsparade, who remains a constant creative guide. Much love to you, dear. Here’s to hoping I did it justice.


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